


the stranger (an alternative seattle-based newspaper)

by stilinskisbanshee



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-01-08 18:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12260019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisbanshee/pseuds/stilinskisbanshee
Summary: bellamy and clarke are both writers for seattle's alternative weekly newspaper "the stranger" along with the rest of their merry band of delinquents. of course, ridiculous antics are bound to ensue.glimpses at the lives of bellamy and clarke as they take on the world one article at a time based on a drabble prompt series i'm doing over at pamshalpurt on tumblr





	1. "you're the only one i trust to do this"

**Author's Note:**

> so this is a part of a collection of prompt-based drabbles i'm doing over on tumblr [(click here if you'd like to submit a new request](http://pamshalpurt.tumblr.com/tagged/the-raven-cycle) [I would be eternally grateful]) all the disclaimers for this series will also be over on tumblr
> 
> hope you all enjoy :)

It was nine thirty-five on a Monday morning when Bellamy Blake got a call from Clarke Griffin.

He was greeted by a cough, sniffle and “I’m sick!”

“Well I would offer to look up your symptoms on WebMD but it seems all that knowledge from the half of your pre-med course you actually did take have helped you work it out yourself,” he said, smiling cockily. He was pretty proud of that little burn.

“Ha, ha!” she coughed out in a dull, unamused monotone. “Well I’m sure that brilliant fully completed history degree you got there will really come in handy when I get all the good articles and you end up writing, yet again, about Mrs. Smith across the road’s terrible disdain for modern technology. I’d love to see you put yet another spin on that one,” she grumbled back.

Being sick may have made her sniffly but it in no way diminished her ability to come up with a snappy retort.

“Ouch. Did you call for any reason other than to make me feel bad about all my life decisions up until this point?” he asked, tapping his pen on the desk.

“Not _all_ of them; I did like that one decision you made last week when you got me a coffee on Thursday morning, that one was nice,” she said in joking contemplativeness.

“It was buy one get one free, Clarke.”

“Okay, well whatever. I’m calling because I kind of maybe possibly desperately need you to cover my Person of Interest interview for me today?” she asked reluctantly. He could practically see her wincing on the other end.

“Claaaarke-” he groaned, tipping his head back in his seat, but he didn’t get a chance to launch into a full grumble-rant. She knew the tell-tale signs by now, and luckily how to avoid at all costs.

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal I get it you have a life too how ever surprising that still seems to be, but **_you’re the only one I trust to do this._** Please Bellamy,” she whined, a sound made ten times more unbearable than usual thanks to her croaky throat.

He sighed loudly so he knew she could hear it. “Are you sure there’s no-one else?” he asked, strained.

He knew there was nobody else in this office she was willing to even contemplate giving such a responsibility to. She trusted him and him alone; they were a set, the ‘wonder twins’ as their Editor-in-Chief Marcus Kane liked to say.

“Oh, yeah, sure, and allow our resident “Cheech and Chong” impersonators Jasper and Monty double-team the youngest CEO in the history of the city?!” she exclaimed incredulously. “Seriously! Think about it! There’s a reason the two of them have been banned from doing a Person of Interest interview _ever_ again, _even individually_!”

It was a funny image, and he did let out a few chuckles while playing out the scenario in his head. I mean, come on: they were talking about the same two guys that had asked the _Mayor_ if he had got divorced because of his apparent gay affair with the Seahawks coach on the grounds that ‘the people wanted to know’. _THE MAYOR!_ They were lucky he thought it was a joke about their friendship and didn’t truly understand quite what they were getting at. The idea of letting them talk to a professional businessman at all after the bollocking they received was enough to make even Roan smile slightly.

“Okay, but are you really sure it has to be me? There’s really nobody else?” he asks, biting his lip.

“Nobody but you Bell, it has to be you, you’re the only one I can count on,” she said and he didn’t even try to hide the beam on his face (if she could have seen him, it would have been more of a small contemplative grin because of course he didn’t care whether she depended on him alone or not, but for now he was allowed to grin).

“Besides,” she started, “it could get all _50 Shades_ you know, young CEO, she’s attractive too! Oooh, but wait you probably have to be okay with bondage because that could be a deal-breaker,” she chuckled lightly which came out as more of a crackle through his shitty phone (he refused to get an upgrade, on that basis of "it works fine, it's practical, and I don't need any of that fancy shit". she refused to accept that, on the basis of "well another one would drag you out of the stoneage grandpa, this still has tetris").

“Ha ha!” he replied monotonously like she had done.

“I’m serious!” she giggled, “you could meet the Christina Grey to your Andrew Steele. Get it? 'Cuz switched genders, right?”

“Well I’m glad the tapes of my kinky interview with your sex-fiend CEO will bring you great pleasure to listen back on.”

“So is that a yes?!” she squealed and he moved the phone away from his ear.

“That’s a yes Griffin, I’ll have the tapes on your desk tomorrow morning,” he sighed, smile still prominent.

“Gosh! Thank you so much! You’re a life saver!” The relieved grin was pretty much audible.

“Oh, and Clarke,” he started, smug smile now slapped across his face, “I would have done it as soon as you asked. It’s just nice to know that I’m _‘the only one you trust’_ and _‘the only one you can count on’_.”

“You bastard!” she laugh-coughed.

“So you leave your big profile in my apparently extremely dependable hands and then call me a bastard? That’s not very polite.”

“I’m hanging up now!”

“See you tomorrow Griffin.”

“Later Blake.”

* * *

Around four hours and ten episodes of  _Reno 911!_ later, there was a knock on Clarke’s door. She groaned as she pushed herself up from her sofa, pulling her duvet tighter around her shoulders.

“I swear to god, if this is yet another girl scout no more cookies! I'm pretty sure I've put on about five pounds in the last week alone!" she shouts, unbolting the door.

There, in her doorway, holding a red container and a tape recorder was none other than Bellamy Blake.

“Sorry, I think girl scouting ended two days ago, but may I interest you in a tape recording of a particularly saucy interview I just partook in?” he grins.

She groans, rubbing her eyes. Yup, he was still there; like that shit ever works anyway. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You’re sick so… I brought you soup! My mum always made me leek and potato soup when I was ill, and I always made it for Octavia. Guaranteed recovery within a day, the Blakes swear by it,” he keeps flashing her that winning smile.

“You brought me soup?!” She chuckles slightly in disbelief and there’s a smile on her face, the kind that only comes with the surge in overwhelming appreciation of mutual care. And it doesn’t go unnoticed by Bellamy.

“Well, the soup and the interview, I thought you’d want to review this footage immediately,” he grinned like he was telling a joke she wasn’t supposed to understand just yet, “oh, and also, the soup’s cone cold. Turns out I don’t actually own a flask.”

He holds out what he brought her but instead of taking them she widens her door, “Well since you went to all this effort to get this to me, you should get to enjoy the miracle soup too. The stove’s in the kitchen, I trust you can reheat it yourself? I’m simply too ill,” she grins, coughing for dramatic effect.

He sighs half-heartedly through his smile as he steps through her doorframe and over to her kitchen.

“Of course, I’d never want to put you out of your way Princess.”

She turns on the cooker for him and hops onto one of the barstools around the surface in the middle of her kitchen.

“Well… you were right,” he finally says, pouring the soup into a pan.

“Hmmmnn, I usually am but about so many things; you’re going to have to be more specific,” she says, tracing spirals on the counter top.

“The CEO,” he says, like he really doesn’t want to have to elaborate.

“Still lost here Cryptic Christopher, if you hadn’t noticed I’m slightly ill and my brain isn’t working at it’s usual capacity.”

"Cryptic Christopher? Pretty sure _that's_ not a thing."

"Bellamy," she deadpanned.

“She hit on me,” he says with a slightly embarrassed chuckle of disbelief. He had his back to her so she just had to imagine the blush on his cheeks (it wasn’t difficult).

Clarke’s so stunned her head snaps up and she actually has a mini coughing fit, “No way!”

“I know,” he said, scratching his neck with his free non-stirring hand.

“Well, what did she say? What did you say? Was she nice? Is there a future? Shall I start the wedding plans?” she questions, bewildered with a touch of… something.

“I’m not giving you any spoilers, you just gotta listen to the tapes,” he teased.

“Oh, Blake, come on you can’t do that to me! This isn't a fucking episode of _13 Reasons Why_!”

Now it’s her turn to grumble.

“Oh, Griffin, yes I can,” he mocks. “All I’m saying is… there’s a higher comedic value if you listen to it without any prior knowledge.”

“Oh God, that bad?”

“No spoilers!”

“I can’t wait!” she grins, the grip of the something gone.

He pours the soup into two bowls and places them on the table.

“Careful with that,” he almost scolds, pointing at her bowl, “you gotta blow on it before you put it in your mouth, it’s too hot otherwise.”

“That’s what she said,” she states proudly and bursts into laughter.

He gives her a disbelieving smile which makes her laugh even more.

“You… are two years old. Are you sure this cold hasn’t got serious neurological repercussions?”

“Sorry, it’s the shitty sitcoms, I’ve been rewatching _Reno 911!_ all day. There was nothing else to do.”

The disbelieving grin intensifies.

“So you mean to tell me that while I’ve been slaving away doing all your dirty work like a bitchboy, you’ve been sat on your ass watching the worst make believe sheriff's department practically fuck-up on repeat?!”

“Maybe?” she says, more like a guilty rhetorical question, stirring her soup.

“Well that is just not acceptable, who's Clemmy hooking up with now?” Bellamy asks, looking over at the screen, picking up his bowl and moving over to the sofa.

She follows him, filling him in on where she’s at while bringing the pan of soup to the coffee table.

It feels natural. Her and him, him and her (yup, pretty much the same effect both ways round). Sat in the middle of her beaten leather sofa reciting iconic lines from one of the most underrated comedies of their lifetime, eating magical soup, comparing the characters to their own unbelievable colleagues (Murphy was a definite Garcia). It’s comfortable, like they should have been doing this all along, and when Wells slams the front door shut as he gets home from work and she wakes up with her head on his shoulder and his hand resting loosely round her shoulder it doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. Which is saying something because Bellamy Blake is possibly the most awkward person she’s ever met.

And after he leaves when he sees the time she feels a little better than before.

But she credits that to Blake’s miracle soup.


	2. "i can't believe you talked me into this"

**_“I can’t believe you talked me into this,”_**  Bellamy huffs, uncrossing his arms for Harper, who has yet again been attempting to flirt with him for the past hour, to fix his tie. Clarke, of course, pretends she can’t hear him instead turning to the monitor and pointing at what she seems to think is a particularly interesting shot.

“Ooh Harper, this one looks good,” she taunts and though he can’t see her face, he can hear the smirk in her voice, “can I get a copy of these? I’m sure Tyra Banks would love to see some of this pure talent our very own Bellamy Blake has been hiding inside him all these years.”

“No way,” Bellamy says almost immediately, but he’s unable to hold back a slight chuckle through his sternness.

“I’m serious Bell, does NEXT model management know about you?” she grins turning back to face him with mocking in her tone and mischief in her eyes.

“Stop,” he groans, tilting his head to the ceiling to try and force the smile from his face.

 

* * *

 

A few days ago Clarke had sauntered over and perched on the side of his desk with a sickeningly sweet smile on her face and some coffee in her hand.

He knew something was up even then.

“What do you want?” he’d asked monotonously, not even bothering to look up from proof-reading his latest article as she set the mug down in front of him.

“Oh, nothing,” she’d replied with mock-innocence, batting her eyelashes for dramatic effect, “can’t a girl just make her best friend from work some freshly-brewed coffee every once in a while?”

“Not when said girl is Clarke Griffin and the past two times she’s done so, said ‘ _best friend’_ Bellamy Blake has ended up in some form of uncomfortable, and possibly morally compromising position from which the scars will never leave him,” he deadpanned, minimising the work on his screen to lean back in his desk chair and look up at her.

“Alright, come on, the first time wasn’t morally compromising  _or_ emotionally scarring, I think you’re being a little bit of a drama queen here, okay?” she’d replied, rolling her eyes and dropping her act for a second.

“Clarke?” he sighed expectantly, smiling while he folded his arms in wait.

“Okay, fine. It’s Harper,” she said wincing a little with the sweet voice back on. She already knew that the name alone was enough for him to return to his work and ignore her completely after what the two of them were now calling  _the incident_  when after last time they’d gone for drinks after work she’d completely misread all the signals and tried to kiss him.

“Nope,” he said almost insantly, turning back to his article, refusing to acknowledge her presence.

“Would you just hear me out?” she pleaded, swatting his arm so he’d roll his eyes and look back at her.

“Well, she needs a model for her newest piece and she kind of maybe sort of asked me to ask you?” Clarke said sheepishly, looking down at her nails. She knew she was fighting a losing battle.

Bellamy choked a little on his coffee before he set down his mug turning back to his computer.

“Absolutely not.”

She sighed impatiently, “But Bell-”

“There is  _no_  way that  _I_  am  _ever_  modelling for  _anyone_ …  _Ever_ ,” he said sternly, squinting at the screen even through his thick-framed black glasses.

“Are you not even curious? You might just be the next Tyson Beckford,” she grinned, nudging his arm with her leg, knowing the reference would go right over his head. If they hadn’t died before the millennium, he wasn’t interested.

“You know what Clarke, surprisingly enough, I’m not ‘ _even curious’_  about which way I will inevitably end up making a complete idiot out of myself. Thanks for the offer,” he said sarcastically, without even a glance her way.

“Not even for me?” she pouted, moving her face into his field of vision which he still managed to look past.

“Sorry Griffin, not even for you. My personal integrity  _far_  outweighs my loyalty to you.”

“Well it didn’t last time when you-”

“Yes, okay, thank you. I thought we both swore not to mention that again,” he said sternly as she laughed at the memory, “I’ve learnt from that. I grew from it and sorry, not happening.”

She sighed and got up in defeat.

“Okay. Fine. I didn’t want to do this,” she started, taking a few steps back round to her desk, “but… if you don’t do it I’ll just have to tell Murphy that it was you who bit into his fancy sandwich he was so excited about last week before you realised it wasn’t yours,” she smirked.

He stopped mid type and spun his chair to look her in the eye, dead serious.

“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”

“Try me,” she grinned playfully, crossing her arms and giving him a look that said  _you’re fucked._

 

* * *

 

So that is how Bellamy Blake ended up standing in the middle of the photography studio on the other side of their building shooting mock-daggers at Clarke Griffin who is helplessly sniggering at him from the safe side of the camera at two-thirty on a Wednesday afternoon and trying his hardest not to smile at how amusing she was finding all of this.

It’s also how he’s had to try politely making it clear to Harper every time she’s stopped the shoot to go fix the way he was stood, that he’s really not interested. Which, actually, wasn’t unwarranted because although he had the looks, he also had the awkwardness of a twelve year-old boy asking the most popular girl in his year on a date. In other words he literally looked like he had just shat is pants (and only in a kind of hot way).

Every time Harper stopped the shoot to get up and move him, Clarke would blow kisses and clutch her hand to her heart between stifled giggles behind the girl’s back which Bellamy couldn’t help but grin at. A grin which he tried to cover with an exasperated eye roll but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

 

* * *

 

 

A fortnight and six bad wedding ideas later (Clarke had apparently hired herself as Harper and Bellamy’s wedding planner), the article was published and he entered work to a massive round of applause and laugher from everyone at the paper accompanied by Clarke pinching his cheek with her other arm wrapped around his shoulder telling him how proud she was of her little male model and his adorable photographer girlfriend. Oh, and she’d also e-mailed off some of his ‘greatest hits’ to the new season of America’s Next Top Model just in case.

For about a week afterwards, he’d kept finding cut outs of his pictures from the magazine in places around the office, courtesy of Raven Reyes until she’d got bored of that and went back to seeing how many rubber bands she could fling at Miller’s back before he notices and does something about it (so far it’d been around three weeks and nothing had happened).

It took a little longer for Jasper and Monty to stop wolf-whistling and catcalling whenever they saw him and even longer for Murphy (whom he suspected had known he ate the sandwich regardless of whether Clarke had told him or not) to stop pinching his butt and only referring to him by the names of male models he’d had to keep written on his hand whenever he saw him.

Finally, when it seemed like everyone had finally gotten over his disastrous debut into the modelling industry Clarke had called him round to her desk to look at her new screensaver.

He rolled his eyes thinking it was most likely a picture of her stupid cat doing some stupid thing that Bellamy completely didn’t understand and did not find as adorable as every other idiot in their office. Then he came face to face with himself. And Harper photoshopped into it right next to him.

“This is it, this is the one,” she beamed proudly, pointing at it and bursting into laughter.

“For godsake Griffin,” he said trying to sound angry because he was pretty sure she’d picked out the worst photo of the bunch and put it on her computer.

He shoved her arm lightly, chuckling, and returned to his desk, trying to hide his stupid smile from her behind the monitor of his computer.


End file.
